


Tinsley and Goldsworth on the Case

by whichfandomisthis



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Historical, Attempted Murder, Bad Decisions, Case Fic, Detective Ryan Bergara, Detective Shane Madej, Eugene is kind of an asshole? But in a suave way, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, It sounds really dark but I promise it's not, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Police Captain Eugene Lee Yang, Prostitution, Ryan makes bad tea, Sharing a Bed, The prostitutes are cool, don't worry the character death isn't ryan or shane, made up the victims' names because i'm above research, or sara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:38:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichfandomisthis/pseuds/whichfandomisthis
Summary: It's 19th century London, and Ryan Bergara is a newly appointed detective who just wants to get his big break and make it to the big leagues so he can finally fix his creaky door. Shane Madej is so close to living his dream as a forensics professor at Cambridge-- but the London police captain, Eugene Lee Yang, has pulled a few strings. Now he can't graduate until he goes undercover on a case with Detective Bergara.The case is of a man who the newspapers have taken to calling Jack the Ripper...--hiatus--





	1. An Extraordinarily High Number of Handshakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is my first Shyan fic so be nice please! Someone probably already did something like this but I got the idea and couldn't get it out of my head, so here we are, I guess.
> 
> Tumblr plug: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-ghost-bros
> 
> Aka, the-ghost-bros (sight of one popular shitpost, a few unpopular shitposts, writings, and reblogs)

Detective Ryan Bergara sat on a squeaky chair in a tavern in the West End of London, sipping a beer and experimentally moving his legs to squeak the chair. It wobbled a bit, and he frowned. He wiggled his hips again. “Bartender, sir, this chair has a screw loose,” he said, holding up a finger.

“What?” the bartender shouted.

“The chair has a screw loose!”

“What?”

“Oh, nevermind,” Ryan said. Under his breath, he muttered, "I think you have a screw loose." A man walked through the door in a trenchcoat, standing in the doorway for dramatic effect a little too long after the door had shut behind him to let the wind tousle his black, perfectly done hair. This was the man that Ryan had been sitting in a squeaky chair for thirty minutes expecting. He was not expecting another man to duck through the entryway after him. Ryan stood, straightening his coat lapels. The men came closer. “Captain Yang,” he greeted, and shook the stranger’s hand. He was maybe half a foot taller than him. “How d’you do?”

“Bit chilly for my tastes,” the man said, quirking one side of his mouth up so his face looked a little crooked.

Ryan tilted his head, but responded in the way one would expect of a gentleman. After all, he had a reputation to uphold— or, rather, not uphold, but establish. He was nobody. From nowhere. But now this man was meeting him for the first time as a detective from London, and it felt surprisingly good. “Where are you visiting from?”

“Not far away,” the stranger replied. “Grew up around here. What would I expect but the rain? Good ol’ London, cold and dark and dreary as shite.” Ryan blinked.

Captain Yang cleared his throat. “Detective, this is Professor Shane Madej.”

“Almost-Professor Shane Madej,” the man cut in, smiling in a strained way. “Not to be confused.”

“Pleasure,” Ryan said politely. Madej shook his hand again. A trickle of rain water from his coat drizzled onto Ryan’s wrist, and he discreetly shook it off onto the floor.

“And the same to you,” the almost-Professor said.

Yang gestured to a round table in the corner. The three men sat. Ryan’s chair wobbled and squeaked. He frowned absentmindedly. Yang leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers in a serious manner. “I am sure you are aware of this, but there has recently been a third killing of Jack the Ripper.” Ryan sat up straighter in his chair, ignoring the squeak it made.

“I hadn’t been informed.”

“It has been in the papers, Detective,” Yang said drily.

“Excuse me, sir,” Ryan said, “but they didn’t write up a detail.” The police were not releasing any specific information about the crime— just that another had occurred in the East End, and the usual statement to be careful, keep watch over your wife and children. Ryan scoured the papers just to be sure. Nothing.

Madej stifled a yawn. The two detectives looked at him. “Travel,” he said.

“Did it fit the pattern?” Ryan asked the captain eagerly. “With the first two? I gave the file to Sara to give to you.”

Yang pursed his lips. “I read it.”

“And it fit?”

After a pregnant pause, Captain Yang admitted, “It fit.”

“I need details,” Ryan pressed. Yang frowned, and Ryan remembered his station, the irritable nature of his boss, and the uncertain position he held as a newly appointed detective. “...Sir.”

“Another prostitute,” Yang continued after an uncomfortable pause. “Female, fairly pretty, around twenty five years. He—” Captain Yang looked around furtively and lowered his voice. “He cut out her uterus and left it in chunks around the crime scene.” Ryan’s eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ,” Madej swore under his breath. “That is morbid.”

“It makes sense, yes?” Ryan said.

“I suppose your theory could have a point,” the captain hedged. “It does make a certain amount of sense given the circumstances around which it has been based. What with your… theories… they’re interesting, I admit. Though I think Sara is traumatized from reading over your file.” He paused to run a hand through his hair. “Which is why I have invited you both here to have a drink. I presumed we might discuss the manner in which we shall proceed.”

Madej huffed a laugh. “You mean to say how you will explain to me the reason I am here on the orders of my mentor in forensics? And why he will not permit me to graduate?” he hissed. “Wonderful. I should like to hear this.”

“I would like the two of you to continue this case as partners,” Yang said.

“What?” Ryan spluttered. Yang looked like he was already regretting his decision. “No, sir, yes, I mean to say, sorry, sir. You, er—” He stopped. “You will not regret this.” Yang grunted and procured a flask from the pocket of his coat, taking a long swig. Ryan was shocked when Yang offered it to him, and quickly refused, apologizing again.

Madej was still looking at the both of them like they were psychopaths. “You want me to work with a novice detective on my first case, which just so happens to involve a train of gruesome murders? Lovely.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I am remembering why I did not like you in school. There’s a murderer, Yang. A murderer who calls himself Jack the Ripper.”

“I remain confident you can handle it,” Captain Yang said.

“Remember that time you compared me to a delicate flower of a lady and said I should stay inside and do more paperwork?” Madej pressed. Yang flinched, and Madej sat back in his chair slowly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good, me either. Sounds fun.” He stuck out his hand to Ryan, and Ryan shook it hesitantly, returning his smile shakily. He was struck by the extraordinarily high number of handshakes he’d exchanged with Madej in just the fifteen minutes they’d been introduced.

“I look forward to the murders, partner,” Madej said to him. With that, he stood, shrugged on his coat, and breezed out of the tavern.

“Interesting fellow,” Ryan muttered. And it was true enough.

“He is good at his job,” Yang said, taking another swig of whatever liquor he had stored in his flask. He swished it around in his mouth, grimaced as he swallowed, and stood from his seat. “I hate him.”

As Ryan was left alone in the squeaky chair, he was left with the phantom feeling of a warm hand grasping his firmly. He shook himself off and waved the bartender over. “Whiskey, please.”


	2. Almost-Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some more stuff happens, backstory is revealed, there's flirting

When Shane walked into the police station the next day, it appeared to be virtually empty save for a woman in a skirt and blouse sitting at the front desk and furiously writing something on a torn sheet of paper. He walked closer and stopped in front of the desk. Now that he was practically leaning over the desk, he could see that the woman wasn’t writing anything at all; she was, in fact, drawing. Drawing a cartoon of a streetcar with eyes passing a horse on a sidewalk and saying something that Shane couldn’t read, as it was upside-down from his point of view. The woman didn’t seem to notice him. He cleared his throat.

She jumped, and the pen made a jagged line across the paper. Shane frowned. “Apologies, miss. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.

She looked up. He caught a glimpse of irritation in her eyes before it was masked, and she stuck out a hand. He took it. Her grip was a bit too strong, and he discreetly rubbed his hand after she let go. “Sara Rubin,” she said, grinning widely. She slipped the pad of paper under a notebook that looked like it had official business on it.

“Shane Madej.”

“Oh!” Sara hopped up from her seat, tripping in her heels. “Captain Yang and Ryan– sorry, Detective Bergara– are waiting for you. If you’d please follow me this way…” She opened a door on the left of the desk and motioned for Shane to go through. He did, tipping his hat as he went and winked at her. She smiled passively and shut the door behind him.

Bergara looked up at the sound of the door squealing shut and quickly shuffled the papers splayed on the desk in front of him into a pile. Or, he tried to. Half of them ended up on the floor. Shane bent to pick them up, but Bergara leaped up and frantically began collecting them in his arms. There was an inexplicable urge to comfort him, since the detective looked so stressed, but Shane didn’t exactly know how. He settled for allowing Bergara to pick up the papers alone as he spluttered about “classified business” and “important” and “I’m so sorry, sir”.

“Quite alright. So what is this secret business?” That set the detective spluttering again. Shane held out a hand in a placating gesture. “No need to tell me. I’m just a curious sort of man.”

Bergara cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that’s— I mean, I guess it is a bit necessary for you to— Captain Yang said we were partners. So you should probably see the evidence and things anyway.” Shane nodded. “So, you work in forensics?”

Shane smiled. “I do. I want to become a professor at Oxford, but Eugene has ties to my mentor, and… here I am.”

“What do you mean?” Bergara said.

“I mean he won’t allow me to graduate. Not completely, anyway,” Shane amended. “This is my first case.”

Bergara’s eyes widened. “Me too!” he said.

Ah. And there it was. They were expendable. Eugene probably assumed whoever was on the case was going to be murdered by the Ripper. He was probably right. Although it wasn’t like Shane had something better to do, as he was a student of Oxford who had recently cut ties with his family and was now indebted to his mentor, multiple teachers at Oxford, and, of course, the bank. Might as well get murdered. Who knew, maybe it might turn out to be something for him. Professor Madej, he mused. How nicely it would roll off the tongue.

“See, I noticed a pattern,” Bergara was saying. Shane made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Go on.”

“Well, see, all his victims have been prostitutes— so one can assume that there is a motive, something the Ripper has against them. Possibly he has a family member who works as a prostitute, and does not agree with the ethics of the business.” Shane nodded.

“Possibly.” Bergara seemed like he was searching for something more. “I’m just here for forensics. I don’t really know about the whole… theories area.”

A voice came from behind them. “Well, you might want to know about it.”

“Captain,” Bergara said. Eugene strode into the office confidently, sipping delicately from a flask that was surely filled with whiskey, but that almost looked like juice with the way the captain was drinking it. He cradled the silver flask in his hands. Shane remembered him coming to class with that flask on some days, seeming to space out, but somehow still retaining all the information whatever professor had spouted. Shane was almost jealous, but then remembered that Eugene was a right bastard of a man and the feeling passed.

Eugene dropped a thick file onto the desk. Shane schooled his features into mild interest rather than the amazement he felt. He hadn’t lied to Bergara— he tended to be a bit more curious than was good for him. As the saying went, curiousity killed the cat. Shane had no interest in being the cat.

“These are case details,” Eugene said.

Detective Bergara’s eyes bulged out of his head. “W-what?” he spluttered. He looked as confused as he would if gravity suddenly shifted, everything in the room flipped upside-down, and Shane started to walk on the ceiling.

“These are case details,” Eugene said, but more slowly this time, as if that might help clear things up.

“No, no, I know, but, I mean— there’s— I have the details here.” Bergara awkwardly patted the stack of papers he’d collected from the floor.

“Not all of them,” Eugene said, quirking an eyebrow. “You missed these, apparently.” Shane reached over to slide the file off the counter and flipped it open. The first page was a picture of the crime scene, in which a woman lay face down, blood covering her body and matting down her hair. He couldn’t tell what color hair or skin she’d had. A seam in her dress had split, and she was missing a shoe.

But the worst part was the crudely chopped up pieces of her internal organs strewn around the pavement. Shane swore under his breath. Bergara snatched the photo out of his hands and retched. Eugene looked amused. “Yes, quite gruesome. And a bit extravagant, if you ask me. I’d start by—”

“Finding the other shoe,” Bergara interrupted. The other two men looked at him. “I am a competent detective, you know.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” Shane said, then immediately regretted it. He tended to say dumb things to other people. Things that were perceived as insulting or disrespectful. Shane held his breath, but Bergara just laughed.

“Alright, almost-Professor.”

Shane snorted. Eugene narrowed his eyes. “I’ll just be going, then,” he said, and was out of the office in a flash.

Once he was gone, Bergara leaned against the desk, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “What’s the story with you both?” he said after a moment, silent but for the ever-present sound of rain pattering the window. “Aside from the entire graduation thing.” Ah, yes. Of course he would want to know.

Shane smiled wryly. “We were roommates at Oxford. He was studying to be a detective, I wanted to teach, but wasn’t sure on what subject. He, er, convinced me to go into forensics. Ironic, innit, Bergara?”

“Call me Ryan,” the detective responded.

“Just as well,” Shane said. “Ryan, then. Call me Shane.”

Ryan grinned, and Shane nearly fell over. He’d thought it was raining. Now the sun was out? His smile was too good to be true, and Shane felt dizzy. Well, there went that dream of comfortable partnership. When Shane fell, he fell hard and fast. And painfully. He cleared his throat gently, hesitant to let the grin fall from Ryan’s face. “About that shoe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is the-ghost-bros so feel free to contact me there with questions, comments, concerns, idk. Follow me; I write shit!


	3. On the Job Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins at a suspiciously high-class restaurant.

“You what?” Ryan asked incredulously. They were strolling down a street in the East End at 9 o’clock, and Shane grimaced every time someone called nasty words to him from an upstairs apartment. Laundry blew in the wind. Drizzle lightly dripped onto the back of his neck, making him shiver.

“I saw it in a pawn shop,” Shane said.

“You what?”

Shane sighed. “Look, are you going to continue asking me to repeat myself, or are you going to do something about it?”

“But just—” Ryan stopped short on the sidewalk, not paying attention to the woman who cursed him as she tripped on his foot walking past. “If I am hearing you correctly, you saw a single shoe in a pawn shop on your way into town, and the man behind the counter told you it was new, in that day.”

“And there was a bloodstain on it,” Shane said. He remembered it clearly: the faded patent leather, the scraped heel, the splatter of what the man had said was vintage shoe polish. Now that he thought back on it, the appearance of the shoe was a bit suspicious, but hell if he was about to admit it. 

“There was a bloodstain! And you didn’t say anything of it?”

Shane shrugged. “Was not my place.”

Ryan scoffed. “Not my place,” he mimicked. Shane felt himself growing irritated with the short detective. They hadn’t known each other for long, but there was a side to Ryan that was quickly growing on Shane. Like a mole. He didn’t like it; not one bit. 

“Stop that,” he said.

“Stop that.”

“If you don’t—”

“We’re here,” Ryan interrupted, holding the door open. A smirk played lightly on his lips, lamplight flickering in his amused eyes. Shane tried not to smile back and failed. He tipped his hat as he walked past the detective into the brothel. Surprisingly, it was well lit and decorated with well kept couches. Shane saw respectable-looking people eating dinner while other people drank at the bar. “Huh,” Ryan mused quietly. “Was not expecting that.”

“Hello, sirs.” An attractive woman was behind the counter, smiling pleasantly. “Table for two?”

“Er… yes, please,” Shane said.

“Just this way, please,” the woman said, taking in hand two menus and leading them to a table in the corner. It was drafty from the windows next to them. Shane put his coat back on just as quickly as he’d shrugged it off. 

Ryan was floundering. He leaned forward as soon as the waitress had gone and hissed, “Are we at the right place?”

“It’s the very same address Eugene gave to us,” Shane said, frowning at the respectable establishment. “Maybe… maybe it’s a secret thing. Like an operation. You say ‘I’m here for the lady time’ and they let you in the kitchen and there’s a prostitute just… cooking the steaks.” 

Ryan wheezed. “I’m here for the lady time.” 

Shane nodded sagely, then frowned at Ryan, feigning confusion. “Is that not how you request time with a lady friend?”

“Oh, of course, it sure is, sir,” Ryan said, still laughing. Shane wanted to keep him laughing like that forever, but he reminded himself of graduation and stopped telling jokes about sleeping with prostitute chefs. “Well, shall we order the steak and find out?” Ryan said. He was looking over the menu.

All thoughts of graduation and/or an untimely murder gone, Shane snorted in an ungentlemanly way. “Might as well,” he agreed. They ordered the steak, and the food came in record time.

“Maybe the server’s a prostitute,” Ryan said, his mouth full. 

Shane’s face must have lit up with glee. “We should ask her!” he said.

“Ask her!” Ryan echoed. He barked a laugh that had a few other patrons glancing their way. Ryan leaned forward to Shane conspiringly and whispered, “Not with those legs, she’s not.”

“I have better legs,” Shane said. 

Ryan looked at him appraisingly and slowly nodded. “Yes, you’d make a good prostitute.” That sent them into another fit of laughter. By the time they got down to eating, the steak was cold and tough, the chard soggy. Shane felt light and airy and had almost forgotten about the fact that they were detectives on a case— or, rather, a novice detective and an aspiring forensics professor working on a hopeless jigsaw puzzle created by a murderer. That is, until he spotted a tall man breezing through the kitchen door in a suit but no tie.

“Ryan,” Shane muttered, inconspicuously cutting his cold steak with a knife. “Two o’clock.” The detective immediately swiveled around in his chair to get a look, and Shane winced.

“I don’t see anything,” Ryan said, squinting out the window.

“You missed him,” Shane said. “And next time, try not to be so obvious in your scouting.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. There was a suspicious gentleman who came from the kitchen doors who was too well dressed to be a server or dishwasher, and who I doubt was the chef, due to the fact that there is still food cooking,” Shane said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen, which did indeed have fragrant smoke wafting from its doors. 

Ryan frowned. “You think we weren’t too far from the truth?”

“I think your suspicion about the waitress might have been true,” Shane admitted. Ryan laughed. Shane didn’t.

“Let’s wait ‘till dessert,” Ryan said. But there was no need. As soon as the clock chimed 10 o’clock, the lights dimmed. The waitress approached their table.

“I take it you gentlemen would like to stay?” she said, winking. 

“Um,” Ryan said.

Shane sighed. “Yes, please,” he said on his friend’s behalf. They’d better figure out what this place’s deal was tonight or the Ripper would murder even more people. The waitress left the table and went through the doors to the kitchen, hips swinging. Ryan watched her leave, open-mouthed. Other guests were leaving the restaurant. “So, what’s…” Shane trailed off as a train of girls emerged from the kitchen, dressed in dresses that hung six inches above the knee. 

“Um,” Ryan squeaked. One of the girls slinked over to their table, moving with a predatory sway, blinking slow. Shane never would have thought blinking could be seductive, but there you have it.

“Hello, boys,” she said in a voice that didn’t match the rest of her. It was high and light and gentle. Ryan swallowed. “What are you both’s names?” she said, taking a sip of her drink. Her lipstick smeared on the glass. 

“C.C. Tinsley,” Shane said, tipping his hat. He nudged Ryan, who was staring at the girl. The man started to try to reply, but it was taking too long, and the girl was looking at them weird. “This is my friend, er, Ricky Goldsworth.”

“I’m Caroline,” the girl said. Shane shook her hand and then cursed himself when she gave him an inquisitive look. It must have been pretty obvious that he didn’t know what to do in that situation. Caroline let the sleeve of her dress slip off her shoulder a little, pretending not to notice. She took another sip of her whiskey. Ryan died a little. At the expression on both of their faces, Caroline frowned, pulling her sleeve back up. She leaned forward a little, the innocently seductive face falling off.

“If you two aren’t here to take home a girl, what are you here for?” she said.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ryan stammered. Caroline waved a hand. She didn’t look mad or accusatory, just curious.

“What brings you here? Really?” 

Ryan looked to Shane for help. Shane cleared his throat, straightening up. He leaned forward to match Caroline. “We’re on a… business trip. It’s a bit illicit,” he said conspiratorially. Caroline’s lips quirked. She laughed a little, ducking her head. “What’s so funny?” Shane asked. 

“Nothing,” Caroline said. “Nothing.” She downed the rest of her drink and waved farewell, walking away with the empty glass in her hand, sparkling with the light of the oil lamps lining the restaurant.

Ryan watched her go, pretending not to be obvious about staring at her ass. Shane snorted. Ryan looked at him, the dazed look leaving his face, and frowned. “Ricky Goldsworth?” he hissed. “I told you I already had an idea!”

“You were taking too long to answer,” Shane said. 

“D.B. Cooper is a smooth-sounding name. Ricky Goldsworth makes me sound like some American looking to get rich.”

“That’s… pretty close to our cover, actually,” Shane said. Ryan huffed, standing from the booth. Shane followed suit, putting his hat back on his head and adjusting his collar. “We’d better let Eugene know.”

Ryan waved a hand. “He’s probably out somewhere. We can tell him tomorrow.”

Shane raised an eyebrow, side-eyeing the detective. “Didn’t peg you for the type to ignore your work,” he said.

“I’m not!” Ryan said.

Shane laughed. “Where to, Goldsworth?”

“Where else but back home to finally have some sleep, Tinsley?”

“You are no fun,” Shane said. Ryan shrugged. “Alright, well, I admit it is late. I’ll just find a hotel near the station.”

Ryan was silent for a minute. “Stay with me,” he said.

Shane pretended to consider it. “Sounds alright. Although you better not live in a shack, Detective.”

“I make no promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is the-ghost-bros so feel free to contact me there with questions, comments, concerns, idk. Follow me; I write shit!


	4. Cuppa Tea?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We visit Ryan's flat. He makes awful tea. Shane drinks it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long! I've been mainly focusing on original work, but believe me, I am still on this story. Bear with me!

Ryan did not, in fact, live in a shack. He did, however, live in a very cramped apartment. He was already regretting inviting the almost-Professor to stay with him, but what was a gentleman supposed to do? Leave him to suffer with the bed bugs in a whorehouse? It wouldn’t do to have him so far away from the police station, anyway. 

Besides, the place was rather lonely. And drafty. Ryan saw Shane shiver as he stepped through the door, which seemed counter-intuitive, given that the outside was colder. “Cuppa tea?” Ryan asked.

Shane looked startled. “Er, yes, please. Thank you.”

Amused, Ryan shed his coat and filled a kettle with water to boil on the stove. He flicked on a lamp and sat down on the couch to wait for the telltale whistling to show to him the water was done. Shane carefully followed him, carrying nothing but a small bag. Ryan had questioned his lack of luggage, but the almost-Professor told him he hadn’t expected to be staying long at all. “And, after all, I am nothing if not a monk.” And then he’d quickly explained that he wasn’t religious, he wasn’t meaning anything against monks, and that he’d meant it as a joke— ‘renounce worldly possessions’ and all. The joke seemed to have fallen flat. 

“So what do we do now?” Shane said, looming over the couch awkwardly, coat dripping on the carpet. 

“First of all, we write everything down,” Ryan said.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“So what first? ‘Found a shoe. Very suspicious. Respectable establishment doubled as brothel. Was bamboozled by an unlikely lady’s breasts’,” Shane said, miming writing something out in front of him, occasionally dipping his imaginary quill in an imaginary inkwell. “I think that’ll do. Now, to bed?”

Ryan laughed, but stopped himself before Shane could assume he legitimately found it funny. He couldn’t remember drinking much that night, but his head was playing a pleasant buzz. “No, be serious about this. People have been murdered.”

“Eh.” Shane loosened his tie, and Ryan did the same, realizing he’d somehow become sweltering in the mere moments wherein they’d stepped inside the apartments. Shane looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Ryan couldn’t find a witty remark to make, so he just looked back stubbornly. Their gazes locked.

The tea kettle began to boil, and Ryan jumped a little. “Alright, cuppa tea to warm us right up, and then we can get to work.”

“Didn’t we do enough work today?” Shane said. “I think it was quite a job for you to hold that respectable lady’s gaze.” 

Ryan wheezed. He stood from the couch to stride back into the kitchen to take the tea kettle off the stove, where it was now howling at him in earnest. He folded a towel over his hand and took the kettle, pouring heavy streams into two mugs he’d found in the cupboards. Miraculous, really, as he could not for the life of him remember borrowing them. Ryan called over his shoulder, “Cream or sugar?” 

“Bit of both,” Shane said, louder than was strictly necessary. Ryan stirred in a splash of cream and a teaspoon of sugar and took his straight. At least, he tried, although he conceded to adding a few heaping mounds of sugar into it after tasting the tea and deciding it was a bit strong.

He came back into the sitting room with a cup of tea in each hand. He handed one to Shane and plunked the other down in front of him, letting a little splash over the edge for dramatic effect. He rubbed his hands together as if they were cold. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Shane said, sighing resignedly. He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. “What sort of tea is this?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Ryan admitted. 

“Hm. It has an… earthy texture.”

“Describe the shoe again for me so I may take it down on paper,” Ryan said, deftly changing the subject. 

Shane leaned back into the couch. It squeaked in protest. “There was just one. At a pawn shop just near the train station. It was a sort of tan leather, worn and scraped at the heel and toe. And there was a stain. A bloodstain, I see now, but at the time the man who owned the shop informed me it was of shoe polish that wouldn’t wash out.”

Ryan was scribbling furiously. He dotted the final period with a breath out, stirring the hair that had fallen against his forehead. The hand he’d used to write had cramped, so he shook it out. “And the man. Describe him.”

Shane frowned. “Didn’t you say you wanted to investigate the pawn shop in person? If you’re going to see all this, why is it necessary to hear it described to you?”

 

“It’s for professional purposes,” Ryan said, frustrated. “Now go on.”

Shane sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, which was drying quickly. “Alright. Erm, he was rather short. Sort of a munchkin, like you—”

“Hey!” Ryan yelled.

“You said this was professional, and I am just being descriptive.” Shane shrugged and took another sip of his mulchy tea, swallowing distastefully. “I can stop, if you’d like.”

“Well, go on, then,” Ryan said, waving a hand.

“As I was saying, a rather short fellow, balding head but with some white hair just barely hanging on there. If I had to guess age, possibly around sixty or seventy? An elder, bless his possibly-murderous soul. Er, he had this mustache, probably oiled it a lot— it was a bit greasy, and not in the good way, if you know what I mean. Wore a little apron that might have originally belonged to a woman, but I can’t be sure. Crooked teeth. Big feet. A little scrawny.”

“And his demeanor?” Ryan asked, still scribbling.

“Are you writing a novel?” Shane said. Ryan sighed, looking at him expectantly. “Truthfully, we didn’t speak much unless he was pitching a sale at me,” Shane said finally, “but I’d say he was friendly enough, if only because there was money in it.”

“Most fellows are,” Ryan said. He dotted a period at the end of the paragraph he’d just written, frowning down at his rushed penmanship. “A forensics professor not noticing there was a bloodstain on a shoe he saw in a suspicious pawn shop,” he mused to himself, chuckling a little.

Shane sighed. “Can I go to bed now?” he said.

Ryan laughed. “Yes. I don’t really have another bed, though… You can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Shane scoffed and waved a hand. “I’ll sleep on the couch. No need to bother yourself.” He took another sip of tea and let out a squeak. “I’m not sure why I keep drinking this awful concoction you’ve made. Has it poisoned me?” 

Ryan scowled. “I make great tea.”

“I disagree,” Shane said, drinking more. “Goodnight.”

Ryan gave him a last friendly smile before retiring to his bed. After he turned out the light, he could hear Shane shuffling around the kitchen making his own tea, humming a little to himself. It was quiet, but the walls were thin. Finally, the light turned out and Shane seemed to have gone to sleep.

Ryan turned over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

Did he have a chance at this case? Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever the answer was, he was glad he wasn’t alone to do it. Even if his partner was a freakishly tall imbecile who repeatedly drank supposedly awful tea. Even if he was in London by the police captain’s design, not of his own accord. Even if he was a bit distracting… No. No need to let his thoughts wander there, Ryan thought with an inward sigh.

Though the man was attractive. Ryan didn’t know what he shaved with, but Shane’s jaw was lined with just the right amount of stubble, his hair nicely mussed, his figure lean and just a bit muscular. And there was a certain light in his eyes, a humor, that made Ryan want to just listen to him all day. He rolled over frustratedly.

Ryan resorted to counting sheep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is the-ghost-bros so feel free to contact me there with questions, comments, concerns, idk. Follow me; I write shit!

**Author's Note:**

> I'mma put my tumblr here again it's the-ghost-bros so feel free to contact me there with questions, comments, concerns, idk. Follow me; I write shit!


End file.
